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How many times do we say “never again”?
Yesterday, the ceremonies marking the 60th year of the liberation of Auschwitz by Soviet troops took place. (At the time I write, it is barely worth a mention on the CNN website)
These ceremonies have taken an unprecedented importance in Europe as many realise that this is probably the last such ceremony with the survivors of the death camps still alive, still there to bear witness, to tell us “this was not just a nightmare – this is not just in the imagination of a few deranged people – no, this was real, I saw it, I survived it“.
I have spent the last week reading and listening to amazing, horrifying, unbelievable stories – many of them are speaking up for the first time ever. (See here, here and here for such a testimony in French. You can also go here for the Shoah Visual History Foundation)
We said, “never again”. The Nuremberg trials took place, trying to treat fairly some of the worst criminals in the history of the world, and mostly succeeded. Important precedents were set, based on justice and the law. “Crimes against humanity” were defined. The Geneva Conventions were extended to civilian populations in 1949.
And yet… Indonesia, Rwanda, Cambodia, Biafra, Somalia, and many more I am not listing took place since then. Iraq is coming really close to falling into that same category (some will say it already has). Can there be hope?
Can we say that the fact that Europe is united is a sign of hope, because it happened, or something to cause despair, because it shows that the only way to get there seems to be through the total destruction of peoples and of their will to fight? Is the only way to stop force, and abuse of force, is an even bigger use of force? And who will control that even bigger force?
“Quid custodiet ipsos custodes?” was asked a couple of millenia ago. We have not come closer to the answer. We only have bigger sticks. Pity us.
Holocaust time once more. Maybe better this year. Or worse. Who knows. Worse, probably. Bad, certainly.
There is Marta, Bosnian, ebullient, flirtatious, flamboyant, poor, opinionated. She lives with her aunt and other children, the aunt comes to every PTA meeting.
And Stefan, he is Swiss, he looks like Heidi’s brother, bue eyed, stalwart, up. Stef has never set foot in Poland but speaks Polish and some Russian too. His father has passed every scrap, every detail, of his history to Stef. The father comes to PTA, every time. Quiet. Sometimes forceful.
And Farik. Swiss, yes. Father a doctor, mother a something good, he is darker than a Tuareg, sharp, now half his hair is orange – blue would be better. He is cool and smooth, girl friends and all but you feel a darkness.
Once the Holocaust is over, you will learn that his grand-father, his grand-uncle, and his uncle were tortured to death by Aussaresses. You finally looked him up in the register and saw that he arrived as an unaccompanied minor, at Kloten airport, age 6, no baggage. You don’t know what his mother went through — many years later, you will find out.
Farik will be, to your surprise, the first to leave the class, well after the Holocaust. He will be gone, no news.
There is Sebastian, by the window. No worries there. His grandmother survived, you never saw her, never asked, heard from the others, and Sebastian told you a little. She died last year. Sebastian was at school next day. His parents have never come to the school.
The one who scares you is Max. He always sits right in back, dressed in black. He speaks Italian, and dialect, and reads German and English, and has top marks in languages. English, you know, he taught himself. His area of expertise is WW2, he has read all the books, and then some. Max knows more than you.
It is going to be a hard Holocaust.
Posted by: Blackie | Jan 29 2005 0:39 utc | 25
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